


The Couch Territory

by antic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Winchesters, Bullying, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antic/pseuds/antic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's just that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Couch Territory

**Author's Note:**

> Got kind of inspired watching this one scene from lovely _Friends_. That's my boys.

It was a bad day. Generally a hard week. Just yesterday they got rid of two goddamn Wendigos inhabiting the abandoned local coal mine and Sam was still nursing the gash on his stomach. To say Dean was livid was an understatement.

He himself got out without a scratch, because the damn fool jumped in front of him at a crucial moment. He tried to stay calm while basically gathering Sam’s guts together and trying to keep them inside. Somehow they managed and now, instead of laying it low, Sam insisted on going along on a coffee run with him, the idiot. And of course they had to stop and drink it inside, considering his ass was too weak to go back to the motel. So they took one of the two comfortable couches. Sam needed his rest. And as much as he wanted to express his frustration, he couldn’t, already channeling his inner mother. Could he be more pathetic?

They were sitting, nursing their respective coffees and minding their own business. So when Dean heard the doorbell and two sets of footsteps following, he thought nothing of it. Until an unfamiliar, pretentious voice piped in from behind his head.

“You’re in our spot.”

He turned halfway around to look the guys over. He rolled his eyes. One hand. That’s all it would take. If they weren’t hopped up on some demonic ju–ju, that is.

“Okay, sorry, we can move,” he said, trying to pacify the situation before it escalated, minding the state his brother was in.

No such luck.

“Oh, he’s sorry,” the other guy waved his hands around, his prominent belly shaking with the movement. “Like we even care.”

“Dude,” he looked at them, confused and growing steadily irritated. “What’s your problem? We said we’d move.”

The first one huffed. Dean knew the type. Smalltowners looking for some entertainment, bored out of their asses. Shame they didn’t know better.

“Then move it, princess,” the second one sneered and okay, it took last of his reserve and Sam’s hand on his shoulder to stop him from introducing their faces to the floor. Instead, he just grabbed his coffee and stood up. The lame–ass ex–bullies followed him with eyes that were growing wider and wider the more they had to rise their gazes up, clearly not expecting their prey to unfold to such sizes. He could still see the resolve, though. Until Sam decided to join him, that is. Only then he could see poorly concealed panic slowly set over their features. Taking a bite bigger than they could swallow.

Dean knew for a fact that if it came down to a fight, Sam couldn’t really hold his own this time, but they didn’t know that. From the way his brother was standing tall and menacing you’d never guess there was a gash mile long barely held up by stitches under his shirt.

There were obviously wheels turning reluctantly inside the guys’ skulls, calculating. Dean had no idea what there was to calculate.

It showed them, trying to pick on someone just to realize it wasn’t the smartest idea. Probably used to terrorizing other locals and getting their way.

“Don’t try anything funny,” he grumbled low in his chest, making the decision easier for them. The taller of the two flinched. He barely reached his chin. They took a step back, trying to make it appear like it was on purpose, not because they were intimidated and chicken shit. “We eat guys like you for lunch,” he could almost hear Sam’s eyeroll behind his back. So he liked classics, so what? Sue him.

“You’re lucky we’re late for a meeting,” finally one of the would–be assaulters said and almost imperceptibly tugged the other one so they could flee manfully. Dean snorted and flopped down on the couch, minding the coffee; Sam sat down more careful with his movements, wincing and fleetingly brushing a hand over his stomach.

“Well, that was a first one,” his brother said finally, just when he thought they could spend the rest of the time in restful silence.

“What?” he grunted.

“When was the last time we actually won a fight just by standing up?” Sam’s face was split in half with a grin. Dean shook his head with a smirk, but secretly agreed.


End file.
